


Things Aren't the Same Anymore (Some Nights It Gets So Bad)

by iktwabrokenbone (apiculteur)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Post-Break Up, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apiculteur/pseuds/iktwabrokenbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete isn't sure if he still has Patrick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Aren't the Same Anymore (Some Nights It Gets So Bad)

**Author's Note:**

> [spins around in confusion about whether they should write more for pete/patrick or josh/tyler]
> 
> late night writing brings out the best in me.
> 
> title from ginasfs by fall out boy

It was hard, ignoring Patrick. They had been best friends for years, probably closer than Pete had been with anyone- even the people he had dated hadn't shared this almost telepathic knowledge of each other- and then the band had broken up, and it was all gone.

The band breaking up had sucked, to say the least. He loved playing shows with the guys, loved the way the songs felt familiar under his fingers, the way the crowd didn't mind if he stopped playing to kiss Patrick on the cheek, the way they cheered and sang along with every song. But he could live without it. He could live without all of that if he still had Patrick. But, really, he wasn't sure if he still had Patrick.

The number was still in his phone book- it was saved as 'Pattycakes <3', and every time he woke up from a nightmare, or couldn't get to sleep in the first place, his finger hovered over it before he switched his phone off- but he didn't know if Patrick was there. If Patrick would answer if he texted on a whim.

In the end, the fear of rejection won out over the pain of not having Patrick by his side. He was a coward, and he knew it, was reminded far too often, but the twinge in his chest, the heaviness, was better than the feeling of being ripped in two. He wasn't half a person without Patrick- he was a full person, one whole all by himself- but Patrick had become an extra part of him, an extension to his own being, and to have that taken away after becoming so used to it would feel like becoming half the person he was.

***

He felt cold. He was curled up in a bed which was too large for him, keeping to left side, because he was used to never sleeping on Patrick's side of the bed, and he had turned the heating off. It had been too warm when he went to bed, but now he wished he had left the heating on. He reached to the side to feel the metal, the white paint peeling off, turning a slightly grey-ish yellow. The radiator was cool, and he shivered before recoiling, retreating under the covers to try conserve as much warmth as possible.

In the dark of his blanket-tent, the screen of his phone, set to full brightness, almost blinded him. By the time his eyes had adjusted, he felt just as unable to look at the screen. Automatically, he had gone to his contacts, chosen Patrick's number, ready to send a text or call. This time, he didn't want to be a coward, not when he was cold and alone and without his Patrick.

He clicked the 'Send Message' option, wrote out and deleted several things, unable to decide what to send.

_i miss u_

_i cant sleep_

_its too cold_

_i miss u_

_i love u_

He sighed, eventually typing out 'it's too cold' once again, because all of his other options were too familiar, too much alike to late nights just after a tour, when he was used to sleeping with Patrick so close, and then he couldn't even hear his voice without it being muffled by the gentle hum and crackle of the phone line, or when they were in a hotel room, two doors away, but both were too tired or lazy or nervous to walk those few feet to see each other face to face.

He waited. He didn't know how long he should wait, or if he should wait at all. Maybe Patrick would ignore him, or call him back, shouting angrily, or send an impersonal message saying he didn't want to talk to Pete anymore, or pretend he didn't know who Pete was. He didn't let himself hope that Patrick would reply, pretend it was one of those times, not so long ago. Hope would break him, and he was already cracked enough.

When his phone buzzed, he hardly dared believe, didn't notice his breath was stuck in his throat until he unlocked his phone, read the text, and finally let it all out, took a deep breath in, out, in, out, and back to almost-normal breathing.

_Get another blanket then_

It was casual, just pointing out the obvious, nothing spectacular, nothing that could make him reevaluate his life. It was just something Patrick would've said before they broke up- before _the band_ broke up, they hadn't been dating, couldn't _really_  break up- and it shouldn't mean so much to Pete. But he was grinning at those four words, hardly taking in their meaning.

After a while, he got up and found another blanket.

 _still cold_ , he texted, even though the extra blanket couldn't make that much of a difference after just being in use for three seconds.

_Wait a minute. You'll warm up_

Pete knew he was right, so he changed the subject. Talked about Master Chef. Used stupid nicknames. And they went on, trading meaningless bullshit about their everyday lives, about TV programmes, nothing about music or them.

He was almost asleep, and they both knew it- Patrick had an extra sense, one which detected how Pete felt, helped him keep Pete in line- and so Pete sent the first thing his tired mind dredged up.

_i miss you_

Pete was too tired. He fell asleep before Patrick replied. If he replied.

***

When he woke up, he remembered, cringed and regretted it with all of his being, hoped Patrick would still speak with him, and opened his phone to apologise. He found a text in reply, instead of silence.

_I miss you too_

They didn't mention it again, continued to text, occasionally call each other, fall asleep with the line open, or the last text unsent. If, haunted by insomnia, Pete accidentally whispered, "I love you," instead of whatever he'd been about to say, they didn't mention it, just like Pete didn't mention the way Patrick's breath hitched every time. It was one of those unspoken truths, unspoken rules, and Pete was just fine with it.

***

Patrick was in LA. Patrick was the closest he'd been since the break up. Of course, Pete asked him out for coffee, never thinking about the consequences.

Patrick said yes anyway, and, somehow, they were sitting across from each other in a tiny, rundown coffee house-diner hybrid, where the drinks were as shit as they were overpriced. Pete took the coffee black, only able to actually drink it with five sachets of sugar stirred in.

Neither had spoken, aside from greeting each other, and they sipped at coffee quietly. Patrick was the first to speak.

"Pete," he said, voice low enough not to be heard by other people in the diner.

There didn't seem to be any follow up, and a waitress arrived after a few seconds, offering to fill up Pete's emptied cup with a smile. He nodded, thanking her, waited until she had left before replying with an equally soft, "Trick."

Patrick let out a long breath, then smiled wide, as though that had been all he was waiting for. "Hey."

"Hey." It wasn't the insomnia or the fear or his cowardice which decided the next thing he said, it was all him, and it felt nice to make his own decisions for once. "I've missed you," he murmured, and then, even quieter, "I love you." It was close enough to inaudible that Patrick could ignore it if he wanted, even though Pete had already heard his breath hitch, knew he'd been heard.

"I love you too, Pete," he said, and Pete swore he felt his heart stop and then start again, his stomach flutter, his lips twitch into an involuntary grin, every single cliche, all for Patrick.

He knew he had Patrick, now, because Patrick let Pete kiss him when they left the diner, even kissed back, and held Pete's hand, and returned the 'i love u' texts Pete had gotten into the habit of sending every night. He had Patrick and now everything felt more okay.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. kudos and comments would be appreciated.


End file.
